


Carolyn

by Jay_eagle



Series: Cabin Pressure LGBT+ fics [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexual!Carolyn, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Past Relationship(s), Romantic attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In honour of Asexy April - here's an asexual Carolyn fic. Note a slight trigger warning for non-graphic dub-verging-on-non-con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carolyn

When her first marriage ended, Carolyn was adult enough to be able to say that the blame should be shared. She and Ian had wed too young, that was all; they both clearly wanted different things from life. She wanted more than a co-owned sweet shop; he wanted a home life, and children, and intimacy... Intimacy that somehow never really felt appealing to her, at least not the way Ian wanted to pursue it. She'd shaken her head mentally and put it down to their incompatibility; after all, no sane woman would want to share a bed with a man who regularly sailed so close to the wind in terms of flirtatiousness with the shop's customers, not to mention his own sister-in-law.

 

 

They'd gone their separate ways, and it was fine. She had her training as cabin crew, with Air England at that, and had rapidly become so good at her job (especially dealing with the trickier passengers) that she'd been promoted to the first class cabin on their long haul American routes. She explored New York and San Francisco, drank cocktails in Boston and LA, rebutting any offers of a relationship that came her way. Singledom was fantastic, independence for the first time in her life, and she loved it.

 

 

But then... oh, then she met Gordon. He flew frequently to Manhattan for business, and they shared a love of aviation and a delight in travel. Something about her aloofness clearly appealed to him, and he thrilled to the chase, pursuing her with a single minded determination and charm that was difficult to resist. And when he offered her a private flight in his executive jet... Well, who would say no to that?

 

 

They married six months later, and Carolyn fell into bed with him on their wedding night as she knew she had to. He hadn't brought protection, and she mentally sighed, not wanting to ruin the magic of the day. Just this once wouldn't matter; she would take charge of contraceptives after that.

 

 

That minor, momentary oversight was how Arthur was conceived. Carolyn couldn't believe it. Of all the times, honestly... But Gordon was over the moon, and as she grew larger over the nine months, she began to feel affection towards the little wriggler dancing inside her. He kicked as she hummed, and she started singing more often on purpose, feeling an indefinable need to make this tiny being happy, to see that he was content. Affection bloomed into full-on adoration once her dancing child was born; they placed Arthur in her arms, and suddenly it was as if someone had wrapped up half her heart in an off-white, NHS-stamped blanket and handed it to her. Gordon was over the moon with his son and heir and for a while they existed in a bubble of familial bliss, interrupted sleep and smelly nappies notwithstanding.

 

 

Deep down, though, Carolyn was becoming convinced that all was not exactly well. She had fobbed Gordon off with excuses for much of her pregnancy when he initiated sex, and - as a first-time father - he knew no different. Perhaps pregnant women never wanted to sleep with their partners; they could convince themselves of that. And for the first two years of Arthur's life, with Gordon travelling a lot and the broken nights, often they were both genuinely too tired for bedroom antics. But Arthur grew older and slept better, and their friends had babies and Gordon learnt to subtly compare notes with his drinking buddies at the golf club. He pressed her more and more to give in to his demands for intercourse, until... eventually he stopped asking, and just took. She woke up often to find him bending over her - or bending  _her_ over - occasionally already half-inside her. She felt so guilty that she wasn't giving him what was his marital due that it took her years to complain, years to object and to move into a separate bedroom. That had precipitated a screaming row, with Gordon yelling that it wasn't  _his_ fault if she never wanted it, frigid cow, and her slapping him across the face and running from the kitchen, suddenly hating him to the very core of her being.

 

 

Their separation following her move was less a single, thunderous event, and more an inevitable slide apart. It was two years of Gordon's hardly concealed affair and of her almost feeling gratitude for it, because at least he wasn't coming to her anymore for what she'd never wanted to give him. Even in the beginning, when she  _had_ been attracted to him, for some unknown reason it had never been for  _that_. She'd never wanted to be intimate in that way with anybody, she realised, and concluded that some part of her must be broken.

 

 

At last the affair grew so blatant - and Gordon's treatment of their gorgeous, unusual son so irascible and despicable - that she couldn't in good conscience ignore it any longer. She kicked him out of the house, battled through the courts with the divorce lawyer, and settled down to a life  _finally_  without an aggrieved husband making her feel guilty and unfit at every turn. She bought the teenage Arthur a dog, and they walked her together on Brinkley Chase; occasionally men would approach, seeming friendly, now and again asking her for a drink or a meal, but she froze them out, every single one. Her business and most of all her son were her priorities, and she'd trodden that road before and knew where it led - rejection and acrimony and shattered feelings, not to say lives. Nothing,  _nothing_ would entice her to be interested in a romantic relationship ever again.

 

 

Except that one day - one day... "Herc!" Douglas had shouted, and she'd heard a ridiculous dance take place in the portacabin. And then she'd looked up expecting just another passenger, and instead there was a tall, dark-haired chap smiling at her. She'd snapped and argued with him - as was her wont - but he'd seemed to enjoy it, had taken a certain relish in pitting his wits against hers, and she had felt something she hadn't for so, so long: that intangible flicker of interest.

 

 

Against her better judgement, she'd agreed to have lunch. Had almost cancelled a dozen times, but then was... glad, actually glad that she hadn't. "You fool, Carolyn," she ticked herself off as he drove away afterwards. "Fool."

 

 

But she hadn't refused the next six dates, had felt the flicker brighten into a flame of attraction towards this man who called her dog ridiculous and liked her son and treated her with the care and dignity no man had ever bothered to show in the past. And who would never, never let her win an argument without thoroughly making her battle for it first. She loved it.

 

 

  
_This_  part, though... This was where it would all go to hell. Because Herc was in her lounge tonight, had set his coffee cup down and was turning towards her with that look in his eyes that meant DANGER. She let him kiss her, but couldn't find the enjoyment that she'd previously experienced with him when she knew it wasn't going to lead anywhere. She was tense, nipped his lip by accident, gripped his waist too hard.

 

 

Herc drew back. "Everything alright?"

 

 

If only his voice hadn't been so _kind_. She knew how to deal with voices that weren't kind. 

 

 

"I'm sorry." She would not let her voice shake. "This is it." She turned away, released her hold on him.

 

 

"What?" Herc sounded bewildered, and who could blame him? "I don't understand, darling. Are you... asking me to leave?"

 

 

"No," she replied, quickly. "I just..."  _Why do I feel guilty?_ she wondered.  _How can it have been my whole life, and yet I still feel guilty?_  "I just know what you want, and it's... fair enough, that expectation." She looked up, met his eyes. "And I'm sorry. I don't want it."

 

 

Herc took a deep breath. "Help me out, here," he said, mildly. "What - exactly - is it that you don't want?" He took her hand, and like an idiot, she let him.

 

 

She hesitated for a long time, anticipating his disgusted reaction, the accusations of her leading him on, the recrimination and his inevitable departure. "I don't want to sleep with you," she said, finally, and shut her eyes.

 

 

"Tonight?" Her silence told him the answer. "Ever?"

 

 

She nodded, eyes still closed, not wanting to see his reaction.

 

 

"Oh." She waited for him to absorb it, heard him shift on the sofa. "Is it - is it me, or is it... Anyone?"

 

 

Surprised - that hadn't been a question she'd expected - she looked over at him. "I don't want to... with anyone," she clarified, stunned when he then reached to hold her arm warmly.

 

 

"Ok," Herc said.

 

 

"O... Ok?" she repeated, utterly bewildered.

 

 

"Yes."

 

 

She let out a derisive snort of frustration. "You can't mean that."

 

 

Herc smiled. "Can't I?"

 

 

"Of course not. It's what all men want, and I don't. Never have." She stared at him, resolute even in her nervousness. CEOs did not betray nerves, after all, and Carolyns didn't either.

 

 

Herc just breathed for a moment, clearly trying to work out how to phrase his next sentence. At last, he met her gaze again. "I've had sex," he said, quietly. "With four different wives, though I'm sure I don't need to remind you of that. Plus other women in between and around the edges, as it were." He looked sheepish, but carried on. "Sex doesn't keep a relationship together, I know that better than anyone." Now his smile became more genuine, broad. "Respect does. Fascination does. Love does." She tensed, and he grinned, his eyes sparkling, but there was utter sincerity in his voice as he continued. "I respect you." He kissed her hand. "I'm fascinated by you." He kissed again. "I -"

 

 

"Hercules Shipwright, don't you  _dare."_

 

He nodded and stopped. "Too soon, I know." He rubbed her hand soothingly: to her humiliation, she was trembling lightly. "But I want to be with you, if you want to be with me."

 

 

She stared at him, wonderingly, and he ran a thumb over her forehead, smoothing the frown lines away, then oh-so-gently kissed her cheek, checking her reaction before he did so. "Do you?" he whispered, warm breath in her ear. "Want to be with me?"

 

 

She choked, but managed to answer. "I do." She turned, and kissed him properly, amazement sparkling like champagne in her throat. "I do."


End file.
